(Or Never Mess With Mommy’s Tea)
Upon a similar September morn
I placed my beloved herbal blend
Into my porcelain china cup
Turning on my silicon friend
I chanced to find an e-mail
From a southeastern associate
While my eyes graced
The beautiful words of intent
My hand reached
For my warm herbal blend
What a cosmic joke
The cup had walked away
Leaving my lips listless
Had it fallen to the carpet
Had the soluble solution
Evaporated like my withering thoughts
My eyes/ears followed clues
Much like a postmodern Sherlock
Fixing my eyes behind
My beautiful yet sheik
Persian wool sectional couch
I heard the sinister slurping
Of a tiny set of angelic lips
Whose wings and halo
Were miraculously absent
(from sight)
My cute little princess
Had absconded with my cup
And was now gulping (with glee)
The last of my herbal blend
But to her eternal misfortune
The cup which she pilfered
Was simply used to restore
Nature’s regular balance (hint)
So ends the maligned mystery
Of the stolen china cup
But the final line
Which my daughter said
Left me with months
Of much needed laughter:
“Ooh mommy, my tummy hurts!”
Kenny L. Mitchell
September 24, 2009